


I was there

by tall_wolf_of_tarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tall_wolf_of_tarth/pseuds/tall_wolf_of_tarth
Summary: There is a new patron in the library, and everyone calls him Hot Asshole. Brienne runs into him and gets to know him better.---------Reposted from my drabble collection. Please mind the warnings in the chapter notes as there will be some mentions of past traumatic events.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter One

Brienne heard about the Hot Asshole as soon as she returned to work from her annual winter holiday. Apparently in the week that she was skiing in Vale, the library had gained a new patron. Who was very hot. And extremely unpleasant.

“He made Sansa cry,” explained Sam to Brienne. Making Sansa cry wasn't a very hard thing to do, Brienne knew, as she had once made Sansa cry by telling her the plot of Bambi but the Hot Asshole had made Sansa cry when Sansa had registered him as a patron.

It wasn't hard to recognize who the Hot Asshole was because he was the hottest person Brienne had ever seen. She saw him returning books to the self-service machine that very same morning. He was very tall and very blond and very pretty. He had this sort of dishevelled look that only beautiful people could pull off, bit unshaven and scruffy, but an ethereal sort of way. He was throwing the books to conveyer belt carelessly with one hand like they were frisbees instead of books. What an asshole, Brienne thought. She hated when patrons mistreated the books.

“He comes in every morning,” explained Sansa with a sniff. “He checks out a pile of books, and comes back the next morning to return them and checks out new pile.”

The Hot Asshole had finished returning his books and swung his backpack over his shoulder without zipping it back together. He was graceful like a cat, but there was something odd in his posture. Maybe the way he held his shoulders, Brienne observed. He sauntered out of the main hall and disappeared towards the contemporary fiction, hands stuffed deeply to his jacket pockets and the backpack hanging off his shoulder.

Brienne tumbled upon the Hot Asshole only half an hour later right next to the historical fiction. She literally stumbled to something on the floor when she was shelving books, fell over and pulled someone to the floor with her. That someone was the Hot Asshole, who let out a great oomph when Brienne fell on top of him. The Hot Asshole started immediately to curse, while Brienne tried to unravel that great tangle of limbs, books and backpack straps that they had become.

“Watch where you are going, you great big oaf!” the Hot Asshole barked and jumped up to his feet like a cat. It took a little longer for Brienne to get up, as the strap of his stupid backpack was still around her ankle.

She managed to free herself and looked up to the man. He was even hotter from close by. He stood there, hands in his pockets while Brienne was on her knees, picking up the books that had scattered to the floor when they fell over.

“Do you have a condition or something?” the man snarled. _Unbelievable_ , Brienne thought and looked up to him, standing there and not helping. He really is a total dickhead. “Never mind actually,” the Hot Asshole smirked, and looked down. “I quite like how you are right now. Must be a familiar position for you.”

If he doesn't shut up soon, I might punch him, Brienne realised. She picked up the last book -- The Oathkeeper -- put it on the top of the pile she had gathered to her arm and stood up.

Luckily the Hot Asshole did shut up when Brienne straightened herself to her full length. She took her time standing up, going up, up and up until she could finally look down at him. It was a neat trick she had learned when she was quite young. Sometimes it was useful to be the tallest person in the room, and not only to reach objects from the high shelves. It worked like a charm to the Hot Asshole too, because he shut his pretty mouth with a snap.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Brienne said as calmly as she could. “Didn't see your bag there at all.” His Addam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed audibly. “I think these are yours,” Brienne picked up the top three books from her pile and offered them to the man. The man didn't react but just stared at them. “Sorry, do you want me to check these out for you? Or weren't these your books?”

“It's fine,” the Hot Asshole snapped, finally removed his hands out of his pockets and pulled the pile away from Brienne with a huff. He then picked up his still-open backpack and stalked off towards the biographies.

 _What an asshole_ , Brienne thought and started to shelve the books again.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne learns more about Hot Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS BELOW  
> Please be aware of some possibly triggering content in this chapter.  
> There is a description of someone having a panic attack at the library.  
> There is mention of past war crime (bombing of school and civilians).

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when Brienne finds a severed hand at the isle between ethnography and folklore. She drops Giantsbane's “Bear and the Maiden Fair” straight to her toes and promptly falls on her arse.

“Stranger fuck me sideways!” she yelps, before realising that there is no blood and the severed hand is in fact, a fake one. And actually, it’s not a fake hand but a prosthesis, a simple flesh coloured one with a sleeve.

It’s not the first time she has found body parts in the library as she once found Walter Frey's dentures in the women’s restroom and prosthetic hand is not that bad compared to _that_ incident. Brienne picks herself and the Giantsbane up and walks to the hand.

Further on behind the corner, she sees a familiar backpack and the Hot Asshole sitting next to it on the floor. Brienne recognises him from his mop of golden hair and the ratty crimson and gold hoodie he is wearing. The Hot Asshole, or rather Jaime Lannister as Brienne knows his name now, is crouching on his heels, his hands — _oh!_ his one hand and one residual limb — on top of his head and is rocking back and forth.

"Hey," she approaches him carefully. "Is everything alright?" she asks and winces at herself. Jaime Lannister is clearly not alright. She crouches down next to him, and asks again. "What happened?" but the man doesn’t react to her.

A gang of unruly children run across the aisle next to them and Jaime Lannister jumps a little when one of the children screeches.

"Hey," she tries again to talk. Brienne is very wary, but she stretches her hand and very gently puts it to his shoulder. “Jaime,” she tries to use his name. “Can I help you, Jaime?”

He looks up now but his eyes are oddly vacant. “You,” he chokes out. "You’re that tall one."

"It's Brienne actually. And you are Jaime, right?" He nods and puts his head down again. "Jaime, it looks to me that you are unwell.” Jaime nods again. “Will you let me help you?” She pauses and waits, realises her hand is still at his shoulder and retrieves it carefully. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Jaime runs his hand through his messy hair. “I think I’m having a panic attack,” he finally says.

“Alright,” Brienne tries to sound calm. She quickly runs through her mind what should be done when someone is having a panic attack. She's had First Aid training, but she hasn't had to help anyone with a panic attack before.

“Have you had one before?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says. “Maybe. I think I have.”

Screeching children run past them again. “Alright, Jaime,” Brienne touches his shoulder again. “Let’s get you somewhere quieter first, ok?” She waits for him to nod, then picks up his prosthetic hand from the floor and puts it to his bag. There is a neat pile of books and a battered phone on the ground next to him so she puts those to the bag too and zips it up.

"Do you think you can stand up and walk, Jaime?" He doesn’t respond, but he hauls himself up and looks at her again. He looks pale and vacant but follows her when she puts her hand to his back and starts to lead.

Brienne ends up taking him to a small conference room that patrons can book for meetings. It’s empty now, and Brienne guides him to sit down to the battered sofa. She puts his bag to his feet and sits next to him. Jaime Lannister still looks vacant and is shaking a little.

“Do you have any medication you can take for it?” she asks but he shakes his head. “Would you like me to call someone to pick you up? Your family member or a friend?”

“No, no. Please don't do that.” He looks upset for that suggestion, so Brienne puts her hand to his shoulder again.

“Alright, I won't.” There's not much one can do when someone is having a panic attack except to keep them safe, Brienne remembers. “You can sit here as long as you need, ok?”

Jaime nods, puts his elbow to his knee and leans his face to his hand. His other limb, the arm without the hand, he hides in a hoodie pocket.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“There's nothing to be sorry about. These things happen.”

“No, I mean, I'm sorry that I yelled at you.”

“Oh. That was weeks ago. And I did fall all over you.”

His seems to be calmer now. He even smirks a little. “Yes, you did that, didn't you.”

“Can I do something for you? Fetch some water perhaps?”

"No, please stay. This is good." They sit like that for a moment and Brienne sends a quick text to Sam to inform him where she is. “Can you maybe talk to me?” That sets Brienne back a little. "You have a very calm voice."

“I'm not much of a talker, really.” She furrows her brow and tries to think of something. Her eyes land on the book that she dropped on her toes. “What if I'll read to you?” she suggests and opens the book.

The book is a collection of essays about bear-related folk tales and songs. Brienne winces but starts reading the first essay, and it's actually quite interesting. T.W. Giantsbane seems to be very enthusiastic on the subjects of bears, bear-baiting, bear-hunting and women who pretend to be bears. Brienne is used to reading books out, she does it every week in read-outs in the library, but her audience is usually much younger or older and subjects are less academic. But Jaime, as Brienne can't really call him Hot Asshole any longer, seems to unwind a little. His breathing gets calmer.

She's halfway through a second essay and Giantsbane seems to be particularly enthusiastic about one ribald telling a story of a man courting a she-bear. That emits a small huff from Jaime.

"Wench? He calls the bear _wench_?"

"Perhaps it's a term of affection," smiles Brienne. "How are you feeling now?” she looks at him and finds his eyes on her. He is looking better, not so green any more. He still looks like shit, though.

“Better. My head hurts though.” He is rubbing his stump with his hand absentmindedly.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

That apparently is a wrong thing to say because he looks like she had just hit him. In the next moment, there is a horrible sneer at his face. The sneer that the Hot Asshole is usually carrying.

Brienne hadn't meant to ask about his hand but before she can tell him that, he lifts his chin and snarls “maybe you should tell me instead what happened to your face?”

Brienne puts her hand on top of her cheek and feels her face going red. People always ask about Brienne's scar but she never knows what to say. If she says it was scarred in an accident, they ask next what kind of an accident and then Brienne has to tell them that it wasn't actually an accident at all. Sometimes though she is too tired to lie. Like now.

“It happened during the war.” The sneer is still at Jaime Lannister's face and he laughs a horrible little laugh.

“That can't be true, can it? You're far too young to have been enlisted.”

She hadn't. She didn't have to. But Brienne doesn't want to talk about the war.

She tries to de-escalate. “Look, I meant to ask what had happened when I found you from the floor like that. Not about your lost hand.” He huffs.

“Where is the damn thing, anyway?” It takes a moment to Brienne understand.

“You mean your prosthesis? It's in your bag. Your phone and books too.”

He starts pulling the zipper open on his backpack. It looks like a cumbersome task with one hand.

“I know you probably hear this a lot, but it will get easier with time.” That is the wrong thing to say again.

“Met a lot of recent amputees, have you?” Brienne has seen her fair share, but she is not going to tell him about it. Her hands are shaking now and she feels sick in her stomach.

“Look,” she stands up and clutches the Giantsbane to her chest, “you are welcome to stay in this room until you feel better. It's rarely used anyway. Just close the door behind you when you leave.” He stares at her with his bottle-green eyes. Brienne feels her voice shaking. “If you need any more help from us...”

She sees the realisation to hit him, the way his eyes widen when he reads her name from her badge.

“Brienne Tarth... You're from Tarth, aren't you?” Brienne closes her eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. “Yes.”

“Evenfall bombing. Is that where your face...”

She nods again. The first battle of the Fourth Great War. And the only one that happened on Westerosi ground. When Golden Company bombed Tarth to the ground.

“I was lucky,” she feels her mouth twist. She can't look away from his residual limb now. “That's what they call amputees at Tarth. Lucky.” She puts her hand to her cheek again. _Try not to cry, Brienne,_ she tells herself. _Try not to cry again._

“I'm extra lucky because I didn't lose any limbs.” She lost so much more.

She draws a breath. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Life is not a competition where you win if you have suffered the most.” She made a spectacle of herself again, and Jaime Lannister is staring at her like he has seen a ghost.

"No," he shakes his head now. “You absolutely should have said that. They say that to me too. Lucky. To be alive, I think they mean.”

Brienne makes a move to leave again but he steps closer again and she stalls in the doorway.

“Look, shit," the man draws his hand through his hair. “Look, I'm sorry. For being an asshole I mean. Because I'm an asshole.”

Whatever she expected him to say it wasn't that. Brienne smiles a little and blinks away her tears. “I know.”

“You know what?”

“That you're an asshole. That's what we call you here, you know. The Hot Asshole.”

Maybe she shouldn't have said _that_ either, but he smiles a little and opens his mouth to say something, but Brienne interrupts him.

“I know it must be hard on you, to have your life altered like that. But you can't take this out on us. We just work here in the library. And all of us, we just want to help you.” She steps out now, but turns back again. “Except the Goat.” Jaime laughs, but Brienne doesn't. “Seriously, stay away from the Goat.”

“Is he the one with...?” he gestures to his chin.

“Yes.”

She has only taken a few steps when he stops her again.

“Brienne!” The way he rolls her name makes her shiver a little. “Yes,” she turns around. Jaime stands on the doorway, looking like a half-god. The better half.

“Can I check out that book you're holding?”

“What? The Bear and the Maiden Fair?” She was hoping to loan it herself. “Of course,” Brienne gives him the book and leaves. Somehow she is not completely surprised when Jaime Lannister shows up at her Read-aloud to Seniors on Thursday.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They escape from the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warning: reference to past suicide (Cercei).  
> Warnings in the previous chapter also apply.

They sit in a cafe nearby the library and Brienne is trying to half the biggest cinnamon roll she has ever seen so she can share it with Jaime.

“There is something I need to tell you,” he had said the day before after her read-aloud for seniors he attended again.

“He is going to ask you out,” Sansa had whispered to Brienne earlier that day.

“That's rather unlikely,” Brienne had whispered back. “He gave you the flowers.” Those red tulips had sat on the staff room table all week and made Brienne oddly melancholy.

“Yes, but only as an apology. He's been staring at you for weeks now.” The Hot Asshole, as they called Jaime Lannister, was clearly trying to be less asshole to the staff after Brienne told him off a few weeks before. He was loitering nearby the information desk leaning against the shelf and looking like a model from a magazine spread, all but for the missing hand. He was reading a magazine about archaeology or pretending to read because he also kept stealing glances towards Sansa and Brienne.

“He is going to ask you out,” Sansa had whispered to Brienne, “and you are going to accept or next time I see your dad I will tell him that a hot guy asked you out and you refused.” Brienne had groaned and escaped but she knew that Sansa would go through with her threat.

So when Jaime had sought her out after her read-aloud and told her that he needs to tell her something, Brienne had agreed to have coffee with him after work the next day. Which they were doing right now. And Brienne was trying to divide a ridiculously large cinnamon roll with a spoon.

“I was there,” Jaime blurts and Brienne looks up from her surprisingly difficult task to see Jaime staring at her. “I was at Tarth when it happened,” he continues.

Oh, he is talking about _that_ , realises Brienne.

“I'm a...” Jaime pauses and frowns. “No, I _was_ a helicopter pilot. I was there with the rescue when it happened. I flew front and back, transporting staff to Tarth and brought back the casualties.” He plays with his spoon again. Brienne doesn't know how to react. People never want to talk about what happened at Tarth. It feels like everyone wants to pretend it never happened, except those who want to use what happened to further their political agenda.

“I wasn't the only one, of course,” Jaime continues. “There were others too. My friend Addam.”

“I remember the helicopters. I had never seen one up close before.” Brienne has managed to cut up the roll now and takes her time putting her portion to a napkin and setting the plate with his next to his coffee cup. It's odd to think that Jaime had been at Tarth, that he had been part of the rescue team, and maybe he even had flown the helicopter that had taken Gal or her mum to mainland.

“I don't remember how many trips I did, it went on for days.” Jaime is looking out of the window and rubbing idly his residual limb with his remaining hand. He's not wearing his prosthesis now, and Brienne hasn't seen him wearing it ever since she found it from the floor of the library.

“I didn't get to...” Brienne starts, closes her eyes for a bit, and opens them again. “I had to wait a long time, with some others. Eventually, a ship came.” She had felt so guilty later, about wanting to get a ride with a helicopter, when those who did get a ride were much more injured than her.

“You don't need to tell me. Shit, I shouldn't have brought it up.” He rubs his stubble now with his hand.

“I don't know why I wanted to tell you this. I've been thinking about it for weeks now. About Tarth, and the other conflicts I've been at. I should probably burden my therapist instead of you.”

“It's fine. I rather talk about it than pretend it didn't happen.” She pushes the plate with his cinnamon roll towards him. “Eat this, it's still warm.” They eat their pieces in silence and Brienne tries not to stare his throat when he swallows. When they finish, Jaime wipes his fingers to a napkin and takes out the Giantsbane from his backpack.

“Look what I found,” he puts it in front of her and opens it where the bookmark is. “The drawing here, I thought you might like it. It's the Blue Knight and the Goldenhand in a bear pit. You read that story about them last week at read-aloud.” There is a picture of a woman fighting a bear in a pink dress, holding a stick and behind her is a man wearing a gold glove. “She was from Tarth like you, wasn't she? The Blue Knight.”

“Yes,” Brienne smiles. She's seen the picture before, it's from a tapestry of their family home at Tarth. Suddenly, she feels overwhelmingly homesick, this intense longing for her father's house, for Tarth, its meadows and waterfalls and paths.

She looks across the table to this odd man who can be cruel and haughty, but also soft and vulnerable. Who had flown the helicopter above her school years ago and today wanted to show her a picture of a tapestry in her father's library. And who now is picking up bread crumbs from his plate with a finger he wetted with his tongue.

“Do you want to go hiking with me tomorrow?” Brienne asks him.

***

Jaime has never been hiking before. “Just wear something comfortable,” Brienne had said and added, “and good boots. And bring a towel and swim trunks.” So Jaime had gone straight to the sports store, bought swim trunks, hiking boots and wool socks ( _genuine Tarth merino_ , said the label) and now is waiting on the street, with his backpack on the ground and tumbler full of coffee in hand.

He had spent two hours last night learning how to tie his boot laces with one hand, read everything he could about hiking from the weirnet and grabbed a few hours of sleep before sunrise. He is as prepared as he can be for hiking with Brienne Tarth.

Brienne arrives to pick him up in a shockingly small car. “Sam lent his car to me,” she explains when Jaime folds himself half to sit in the seat. The back seat is full of blankets, toys and other baby gear, and the car makes an odd noise every time Brienne shifts the gear.

“Next time we can take mine,” he comments and watches Brienne blush travel up her face and neck. “But I guess I have to check if the battery is working, no one has driven the car for months.” Bronn had brought it over from King's Landing when Jaime had moved to his apartment, but Jaime hasn't checked the car after that.

They drive across the suburbs and farmlands to increasingly smaller roads, until Brienne parks the car next to something that looks like a dilapidated barn. Jaime gathers his trusty backpack containing his swim trunks, towel, a book and bottle of water and follows Brienne across the road to the small footpath that takes them across the meadow. Brienne is wearing worn blue jeans, a knitted sweater and one of those backpacks that the Millenials are carrying that look like square boxes with handles and a direwolf logo. Except hers is much worn than the kids on the streets carry.

She guides them across the meadow, to the woods, and onward for leagues and Jaime is sure that they will get lost because she doesn't seem to use any map, paper or electronic at all until Brienne points out orange ribbons tied to the trees to mark the route. They see no other hikers at all, and Jaime supposes that the route is not well known. Surprisingly it's nice to be alone in the forest, even if it is slightly terrifying. “Are there any bears, do you think?”

Brienne looks at him with an amused smile. They have stopped for a moment before crossing a stream and are drinking water out of their bottles. “I'm sure there are, but they will try to avoid us.”

“You'll have to protect me if we stumble upon one.” He lifts his fake hand. He took it off and put it back on at least twice this morning before deciding to put it on again. Brienne's eyes stop for a fleeting moment to the ghastly thing before she shoos off a bug buzzing in front of her face.

“Alright, I promise to protect you from the bears. I'll grab a stick and you can hide behind me.”

“Like in that tapestry?”

Brienne laughs, “Yes, like in that tapestry.” She puts away her water bottle, pulls the backpack to her shoulders again and steps to the stepping stones across the stream. “Come on now, we are almost there.”

Their destination is apparently a small lake squeezed between two hills covered with the woods. The water is clear, and as soon as they arrive Brienne starts peeling off her clothes.

“Come on, let's swim,” she calls when she reaches the last layer which is a sporty looking swimsuit. Her thighs are pale and thick like tree trunks and Jaime can't seem to pull his eyes from her when she runs to the water. It's only when she has dived under the water he moves and starts pulling off his clothes. There is no one else there so he just strips everything off and ruffles through his bag to find his swim trunks. When he hears a splash he turns to the lake, but he only sees Brienne diving to the water again.

 _Fuck it_ , he decides, ditches the bag on the ground, pulls off his fake hand and the cover underneath it and walks to the lake on the buff. She can look if she wants to, and Crone's cunt, he wishes that she wants to.

The water is cold as fuck below the surface, but after the walk it feels pleasant and Jaime takes his time trying out how it feels to swim without his hand. It feels off but is doable, so he catches Brienne floating nearby.

“Sorry, I thought I remembered to tell you about the swim trunks.” She is pink on the face again.

“You did remember.” Jaime's PT has tried to get him to swim for months now, and now when he is actually in the water it feels so good that he is not sure anymore why he was so much against it.

Brienne swims away, and he follows her. She is clearly very much at home in the water, but she slows down and waits for him to catch up at the middle of the lake where they both float a bit together. Her mouth is underwater and her hair floats around her like seaweed, and she looks like a selkie or some water creature from a fairytale.

“I feel like I should tell you something.” Jaime blurts.

“Like what?”

“I don't know, like confess my darkest secrets.” He sticks his stump out of the water and recites “Come, curse me or kiss me or call me a liar.” It gets a laugh from Brienne like he intended, and the sound of her laughter makes him ridiculously happy for some reason.

“What, like in that book with Blue Knight?” her eyes are crinkled at the corners. “Have you killed a king, Jaime?”

“No.” He closes his eyes for a bit and thinks for all the horrid things he has done, in service and out of service for a moment before recalling the voice of his therapist in his head.

 _Focus on the positive, Jaime._ His therapist has the top half of fingers missing from his right hand, and that is not the same thing as missing a whole hand, Jaime decided, but overall talking to that odd man has helped Jaime a great deal. _Positive_. Like that girl floating near him. “You already know I'm an asshole.” He slyly looks sideways to Brienne. “A hot asshole.”

“And so full of yourself,” Brienne chuckles, splashes some water to his face and swims away.

There is no way that Jaime can catch her up with only one hand, but he makes an effort and manages to catch her foot to his hand before she pulls it away with a shriek of laughter. He lets her go before doing it again.

“Tell me how you lost your hand,” she asks when they are nearer to the shore and are floating again in the warm surface water. There are dozens of quips in his mind that he usually uses to answer that question, but now he just says the truth.

Three short sentences.

“It was a car crash. My sister was driving. She died.”

The fourth one is harder to say, but he does it anyway.

“She did it on purpose.”

He looks at her for reaction, for shock or disgust, but Brienne just swims closer to him, close enough that Jaime could count the freckles on her nose. Her eyes are blue like the sky above them. She doesn't say anything and Jaime feels relieved. Instead, Brienne just puts her palm to Jaime's face for a small moment. That small touch lights up his heart. Then Brienne pulls her hand away and dives under the surface.

“Come on,” she calls when she emerges again closer to the shore. “I brought lunch,” she rises from the water.

They eat the sandwiches sitting on Jaime's towel and Jaime tries not to ogle her sculpted arms or her surprisingly delicate collar bones. Every inch of Brienne is covered in caramel-coloured little specs, like crystals of brown sugar. He wants to lick the dots to see if they taste as sweet as they look, but falls to the towel instead and looks at the clouds passing by. His cock is straining inside his jeans so he lifts his knees and hopes that Brienne wouldn't notice how horny he is.

“This is my favourite place to hike,” she tells him and lays down to the towel. “Reminds me of home. Except there are a lot more sheep at Tarth.” She has such a pleasant voice and it doesn't help his boner at all. Maybe he needs to go back to the icy lake to cool off again. He startles a little because Brienne has taken his stump to her hand now.

“Why did you wear your prosthesis today? You clearly hate it and it looks uncomfortable.”

The skin around his stump is red and irritated. It looks horrid and no one besides from doctors or nurses has touched his stump until now.

“My father says that I need to wear it so I won't upset others.”

Brienne scoffs. “My great aunt Sandy always said that lions don't concern themselves with the opinion of sheep.” Jaime turns to his side to look at her.

“Was your great aunt Sandy a Lannister by any chance? And I didn't realise that you have lions at Tarth.” She is still holding his stump, and Jaime feels the warmth where her hand is touching him.

“No, we just have sheep.”

Jaime closes his eyes and hopes she holds him a little longer, if only for a moment. The world is quiet around him, only the wind rustles the leaves in the trees and a bird is singing in the distance. He has never been good with silences. “Hey, Hot Librarian,” he nudges her with his stump. “Would you read me something?”

Her laughter echoes across the lake. Before Jaime can take out the book from his bag Brienne's lips are on his and she is kissing him and for a while everything is good in the world.


End file.
